


Video Games

by rory_the_dragon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gift!Fic for Caitlin, Happy Ending, Henry and Felix are In A Relationship, M/M, Multi, Negotiations Of A Poly Relationship, Shameless Smut, Too many angsty feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_dragon/pseuds/rory_the_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter knows something’s up the minute he comes home to a dark apartment. He never comes home to a dark apartment. At the very least there’s sometimes a crease of light coming around the edges of Felix’s door, music turned up so Peter can’t hear him and Henry.</p><p>It doesn’t work. Peter can always hear him and Henry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Video Games

 

Peter knows something’s up the minute he comes home to a dark apartment. He never comes home to a dark apartment. At the very least there’s sometimes a crease of light coming around the edges of Felix’s door, music turned up so Peter can’t hear him and Henry.

It doesn’t work. Peter can always hear him and Henry.

Instead the lights are off, the only light coming from the television in the corner of the room and Peter nearly stumbles when he sees what’s playing; Henry’s face, looking into the camera with a concentrated look, angling it.

“ _Is that level?_ ” He says over his shoulder, and Felix comes into frame, nosing at the space behind Henry’s ear, whispering, “ _Does it matter?_ ”

“ _I want to get it right. This is important._ ” Henry’s mouth turns into a moue of concentration that Peter has to grip onto the back of the couch to quell his urge to reach out and touch. It’s a goddamn recording and Peter still can’t help himself.

“ _Okay_ ,” Felix says into Henry’s neck, bites down so Henry squirms, swats at him, and Peter aches.

It’s not easy, being in love with your best friend and his boyfriend, but it’s easier when there aren’t high quality videos of them being so sickeningly in love playing right in front of him.

He searches for a remote, feeling like he’s looking in on something private, intruding, but he can’t find it. He looks up again, and every cell in his mouth dries up.

They’ve backed away from the camera, and Peter lives with Felix, okay? He’s seen him naked before, seen him just in boxers, in towels, dripping from the shower. He’s even seen Henry in various states of undress, hard not to with the amount of time he spends here. He’s never seen them together, Henry pressing up on his toes to frame Felix’s face with his hands, and pulling him down into a kiss that starts so hesitantly but deepens almost at once.

Peter can see the fucking _smile_ on Felix’s face.

He needs to sit down.

He can’t move.

Henry’s making _noises_ into Felix’s mouth, mewling and needy, and Peter feels himself grow hard in his jeans at the sound. He closes his eyes, trying desperately to think of anything else, trying to will his feet to _leave_ , go into his room and forget all about this. Then he hears Felix’s voice, usually so smooth and high, rumble deep and gravelly in a moan, and has to open his eyes.

Felix is mouthing at the crease of Henry’s neck, worrying the skin between his teeth, dipping lower and lower, biting at the jut of Henry’s hips until he’s on his knees, nosing at the place where Henry’s painfully hard in his shorts. Henry’s hands fall and settle in rag-taggle mop of Felix’s hair, pull, and Felix groans, deep enough that Peter feels it in his chest.

He needs...He needs to stop watching this. He... _seriously_ needs to...stop.

He presses the heel of his palm to his cock, pushes down and tries not to moan, bites his lip as Felix hooks his fingers into Henry’s boxers, mouths at the seam and pulls them down. Henry makes a choked-off noise, a bitten off “ _Fe-_ ” as Felix swallows him down, no restraint or showmanship, and Peter’s not sure who makes a louder noise, Felix or himself as he bites down on his own fist.

“Holy shit,” Peter breathes out as Henry’s head tips back, throat working and mouth in dropped into an O, Felix moaning deep in his chest. Felix is so fucking _enthusiastic_ , all of his razor-sharp focus honed in on Henry’s cock, and Peter wants to die.

Felix's head is bobbing and Peter can see the movements of his throat as he swallows and swallows and swallows around Henry, pulling Henry apart until Henry's shouting, voice too loud in the quiet of the dim apartment and Peter couldn't care about anything _less_ right now, watching Henry shudder and slump, boneless, Felix the only thing holding him up.

The grip Peter has on his cock through his jeans tightens until it's painful, so turned on and turned about that he feels dizzy, and he walks on shaky legs to collapse on the couch, still transfixed as Felix noses his way back up Henry’s body, holding the younger boy up as he sways, dazed.

“ _Henry?_ ” Felix checks, soft kisses to Henry’s cheeks, his temples, his lips, until Henry comes back to himself, kisses back, gentle and soft, like the edge has been taken off, but the kisses grow needy again in seconds, hungry and consuming and Peter _needs_ to stop watching this, right now.

Only Felix is hoisting Henry up around his hips, Henry’s legs winding behind him, and at this angle Henry’s above Felix, dipping down to kiss him, hungry, Felix’s neck is tilted back and Peter wants to see the way it bruises under his teeth, hates himself for thinking it, and he’s so hard right now it hurts.

His head sinks back into the couch cushions, eyes closed, and when he opens them again Felix has Henry spread out on the bed, Henry’s legs still kicked up around him, and they’re playful, tender in their touches, _goddamn caresses_ , as Felix presses and touches his way down Henry’s body. gentle.

Felix is always so gentle with Henry, like he’s going to break him, like he doesn’t get that Felix is just as fragile, completely and utterly incapable of hurting someone like Henry.

They roll about on the bed, laughing softly, Henry grinning down at Felix one second before the next he’s beneath him, on his elbows and catching Felix’s mouth, murmuring into his lips, quiet words that Peter can’t hear, _aches_ to. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, hand pressed tight against his cock and breath coming in hitches as he watches the two most unobtainable people in the world love each other so dearly, but he can’t stop, doesn’t know how to.

Felix and Henry have been together for almost a year now, and Peter thinks it was probably easier in the beginning, when he tried to detest Henry with everything he had in him. Peter knows he’s not a good person, possessive and cruel, sometimes, and it took Henry turning up in their lives for him to realise how much Felix was, _is_ , to him.

But Henry’s good, better than Peter will ever be, and if Felix deserves either out of the two of them, it’s Henry.

And then Peter got to know Henry. The softness of his smiles, the easy laugh he has, the wicked grins he gets when he uses his butter-won’t-melt face to his advantage, the innocent grins that turn sharp when Peter catches his eyes. Henry is so much, so good, it’s impossible not to fall in love with him, a little, and Peter fell more than a little.

Peter fell slow, fell hard, and can’t claw his way out.

Felix is working Henry back to full hardness with soft hands and scraping teeth, because Felix needs to have something in his mouth, drives Peter mad with spoons and pens and his goddamn _fingers_ , and Henry’s arching beneath him, rolling hips and spreading legs, two bodies moving that know each other so well and when Felix’s first finger breaches Henry, Henry cries out, looks straight at the camera.

Peter stops breathing.

Henry’s eyes are intent, watching, and Peter feels caught out, feels captivated, like Henry’s looking right at him. Knows he’s there.

Henry’s eyelashes flutter, eyes rolling back, but they keep coming back to Peter, no, _to the camera_ , even as Felix works him open, fingers moving deeper and deeper inside Henry. Felix’s bottom lip is bruised bright red and his teeth bite down on it in concentration. Peter want to lick at it, soothe the redness and _taste_.

Peter is going to hell.

Felix’s shoulders are moving, mesmerising, the lines of his tattoo rippling and hips circling unconsciously as he watches Henry move further and further up the bed, hands reaching out and grasping at anything he can reach, the sheets, the bedposts, Felix’s shoulders, eyes always always at the camera.

Peter’s pushing down _down_ on his cock so hard that it brings tears to his eyes, that it sends electricity dancing along his nerve-endings, whiting out the corners of his visions, so. fucking. _good_.

He’s not doing this. He’s not. He’s not jacking off in his dark living room to a video of his two best friends. No.

Someone needs to pass the memo on to his hand, his hips, pushing up into the friction of his hand, his head falling back but eyes still locked on the screen, locked with Henry’s,

“ _Felix_.” Henry draws out Felix’s name, _whines_ it, and Felix stops teasing, pulls his fingers out of Henry with a noise that sends shudders down Peter’s spine, lines up and pushes in, in, _in_ , Henry taking everything he has, legs hooked up around Felix’s back, pulling him deeper in.

Felix is making noises that don’t even sound human, needy and perfect, and Peter’s squirming, overcome, Felix’s voice reverberating in his fucking bones.

Felix sets a pace and Peter matches it, hand working over his jeans because he’s _gone_ , watching as Felix drives up into Henry, Henry flushed and eyes bright, hair growing slick and broken off noises, choked down sounds, loud wordless shouts tumbling from his reddened mouth because Peter knows from thin walls and not loud enough music that Henry is noisy in bed, can’t help himself.

Peter likes to go on walks whenever Felix and Henry turn their music up

Now he can’t escape it, Henry’s moans or the noise of Felix’s mouth marking up Henry’s neck, the sound of slick bodies moving, frantic, growing faster. Three sets of harsh breathing fill the room and Peter feels like he’s on fire.

“ _Henry?_ ” Felix says, no, _asks_ , and Peter doesn’t understand, can’t work his mind around the strange note in Felix’s voice, cautious but...steady, somehow. Reassuring.

Henry’s gaze finally breaks away from the camera and he locks eyes with Felix, moving with him faster and faster, close enough to kiss but just trading pants of breath, wet, and he’s close, Peter can see it in the curve of his spine, the bruising grip he has on Felix’s shoulders, and when he comes, he says, moans _, shouts_ , “ _Peter_.”

Peter’s orgasm hits him like comet, lit up and burning, Henry’s voice in his head and the sounds of Felix coming like a chorus to it.

He breathes. Hard.

_What?_

Where...Where is that fucking remote, he needs to fucking _rewind_.

The television clicks off, dropping him in darkness, and Peter starts.

“Felix wanted to do something more subtle.” Peter’s head snaps to where Henry’s slipping out of the dark passage to the bedrooms, heart jack-rabbiting in panic as Henry walks closer, Felix barely a foot behind him. Henry’s wearing one of Felix’s t-shirts, the hem riding high on his thighs, Felix in just a pair of jeans, unbuckled and loose around his hips, and Peter does _not_ understand. “But I thought we should be obvious, really.”

“I-” Peter always has a line, a quip, an argument or an excuse, anything to get him in and out of trouble as seamless as a snake. But now his mouth is dry, empty of words because Henry’s _prowling_ , eyes on Peter like he’s the next meal, and there’s a soft smile playing on Felix’s lips as Henry _straddles_ him, settling himself in Peter’s lap and looking down at him, serious.

“So, we’re being obvious.”

There’s a disconnect between Peter’s brain and what’s happening and he’s blaming it on the aftershocks of his orgasm still shuddering through him because he’s not catching up here, he’s missing something, he has to be.

“For godssakes,” Henry mutters, rolls his eyes, and dips in, one hand curving to Peter’s cheek, the other sliding in his hair, before he kisses him, soft and sweet. Peter makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat, mouth working to keep up with the movements of Henry’s lips, eyes still wide open.

He can count every single one of Henry’s eyelashes.

“Peter.” Felix has moved, hand at the back of Peter’s neck, steadying, and Henry breaks away to let Felix catch Peter’s eyes. Felix has always been anchoring, ever since the orphanage, since he and Peter first met and Peter was even more wild than he is now. And Peter leans into it, presses his forehead against Felix’s and breathes.

“What?” He gets out in a breath and Felix chuffs a small laugh, fanning out across Peter’s face.

“Peter, I’ve been in love with you since we were six years old,” Felix says, and Peter’s ribcage tightens. “It was never going to go away, even after Henry.”

Peter turns, finds Henry who smiles, soft. “I think I’ve made my position on this pretty clear.” He shifts his hips, and Peter’s just come in his shorts like a teenager but it still sends shivers dancing up and down his body. “You’re very hard not to fall in love with, Peter. Even if you’re about as subtle as a brick.”

Which means, oh god. Every single incident of lingering eyes, watching Felix crowd Henry up against the kitchen units, laughing, walking in on them making out on the couch and stammering his way to his room...all of them hit him in force and he closes his eyes.

Henry laughs, sweet against his ear, kisses the skin behind it. “Stupid boy,” He mutters, fond, and, right, no, Peter isn’t having that. He’s on the backfoot, never even had an advantage to lose, and that needs to be rectified right the fuck now.

He flips them, pressing Henry into the couch cushions and kisses him hard enough to bruise, cutting off Henry’s quiet noises until they turn into moans beneath him, Henry smiling against his mouth. Henry’s small, pressed up to him, but he gives as much as he gets, hands sliding to Peter’s hair and tugging as Peter licks his way into his mouth, tastes, _finally tastes_.

They break apart, panting heavily, and Henry’s smiling so bright, happy, like Peter’s given him the universe. Peter leans into Felix, feels him press a kiss to his hair, and his eyes flutter shut.

“You’re sure?” He can’t help himself, hand rising to tangle in the mop of Felix’s hair, comforting, like he did when they were kids and huddled on the same bunk for warmth.

“Stupid boy,” Felix echoes, and kisses him.

 


End file.
